


Make Me A Believer (A Believer in You)

by Sonzaishinai



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confused Ryan Bergara, Crossing Parallels, Crying Shane Madej, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Near Death Experiences, No beta we die like mne, Not sexually confused just confused, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parallel Universes, Scared Ryan Bergara, TW speculation of potential drug abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonzaishinai/pseuds/Sonzaishinai
Summary: He looked next to the hallway that was across from where he came out of. It was unkempt, sure, but in a way it looked… used. And on the wall, almost hidden from Ryan’s view and blending in with the color of the walls, was a thermostat.Ryan briskly walked over to it, bordering on running and pried open his clenched fists to turn on the heat, desperately pressing and squinting at the bright green screen, The house seemed to whir to life in that moment, a loud humming through the walls and before Ryan knew it, a blast of cold air, probably still rearing to warm up, shot through the vents along with a lot of dust. Ryan doubled over coughing. Jesus, he’s inhaled enough dust to last a lifetime, yeah, but by the time he was done spitting into a full trash bin by the sink, it finally began to heat. Oh thank god.----------Somewhere else in the house, someone stirred in their sleep, ears twitching at the huffs of the air vent far louder than the purring against their chest. Of the heat being turned on.No one’s turned that on in a while. No one should be turning it on at all. They pried their eyes open.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Make Me A Believer (A Believer in You)

**Author's Note:**

> Ch.1 TW : brief speculation of potential drug use

The line between sleeping and consciousness was blurry. One second Ryan was just… not there and the next, he was aware of the tickle of stiff carpet scratching his nape, of the dust settling in the air and in his lungs, and of the throbbing headache that threatened to make his head burst at the seams. Every breath he took set his throat on fire, compiling the filth that loitered in the air and yet if he didn’t breathe, he swore he’d suffocate.

It was almost enough for Ryan to believe that he had entered Hell, and he almost would’ve if not for the normal room he opened his eyes to.

It was… unfamiliar to say the least. He doesn’t know where he was last, but it definitely wasn’t here. Clothes were sprawled across the bedsheets, thinly layered in the very dust that was assaulting his breathing. There were… piles— of boxes, of random items, posters. Even the underside of the bed was bespectacled with aged boxes and folders. On the floor by where he woke up, a couple of shoeboxes and dvd’s and books were stacked while across the room, more boxes were stacked almost entirely against the door. Whoever did it probably intended for a way out.

Ryan leaned up and crouched uneasily. Did… did he get kidnapped? Why was he here? He couldn’t remember anything. He wasn’t tied up, but…

He clicked his tongue, licking over his teeth. He didn’t taste any alcohol and he had a throbbing headache, but his head wasn’t- wasn’t foggy or anything? And the headache didn’t feel like a hangover; it just felt like a migraine. 

_That doesn’t rule out the possibility that you got drugged._ Ryan shivered. Where exactly was he? It was then that he also noticed the chill in the air, far, _far_ colder than California ever reached. Shit. _Shit._

He needed to find out where he was quick. He palmed at his jacket pockets _(Shane’s, actually. The sleeves were drawn too long over his hands and hung halfway down his thighs. Surely this meant that Shane was with him recently)_ , but his phone was nowhere to be found. This meant he had to find a phone somewhere if he wanted to call the police. The only window in the room was fogged up from the outside and distorted by— shit, was that ice? He needed to get out. He didn’t know where he was, but wherever it was, it- it had to be far from home.

_Had he been on a trip for Unsolved?_ Ryan wondered as he stumbled towards the door, careful not to make too much sound on the hardwood floors. His boots were his ghoul-hunting ones, and Shane only ever lent him his jacket when he knew Ryan was cold, colder than he could handle. _If we were, though… Teej wouldn’t dare let us out of his sight. Where could they be? Were they worried about him? Did they know he was missing yet? Has anyone gone to the police? Has enough time passed for them to file a police report?_

Ryan tried the door which was only locked from inside the room. He was cautious, trying his best to still his shaking hands as he pried the heavy wood back by the freezing metal, so cold it might’ve blistered his skin. The gap the boxes behind it allowed was just enough for Ryan to slip out unbothered, though he almost tripped over his shoes when he came face to face with some cobwebs that entered his mouth, flailing and almost tripping over his shoes once he got out.

Once he finished dealing with that, he got a hold of his surroundings. The room he was in was located down the end of a darkened hall with only one other room beside it. Outside of where he stumbled, there were no traps or cameras or anything of the sort. Just the shuttered floor-to-ceiling window right behind him.

Ryan did a double take. He pried between the dark wood. Beyond the fog and ice obscuring the window were trees sprawled as far as the eye could see— as far as the snow would let him see, that is. Because beyond the small overhang of the roof were piles upon piles of snow that juxtaposed the soaked trees. Branches and deadwood, accustomed to the climate, poked out of the grounds, all vegetation stripped of its leaves. There was no path as far as he could tell, but the snow was undisturbed, and it settled deep into the pit of his stomach that no, he wasn’t anywhere near civilization.

He woke up trapped in a freezing house covered in dust and mementos, surrounded by snow _(snow. He wasn’t getting anywhere anytime soon)_ without his phone, without anyone he knew. In the middle of a forest in god fucking knows where with who the fuck knows else.

If Ryan didn’t suspect his captor was nearby, he would’ve fallen to his knees and screamed.

* * *

He couldn’t afford to keep sitting around, but where he was now, he still had nowhere to go. Would a phone even work up here? _Dammit, Ryan, what did Shane tell you before?? Think, Ryan! Why couldn’t you just listen to his advice sometimes?_

Ryan shuddered painfully, his skin drawing tight at the joints and his breath crystalizing in the air. It was so very cold, probably worse outside, but it was bad enough indoors. Was there even anyone else here besides him? Who would live in this perpetual cold?

As he walked down the hall, trying his very best to keep his steps light, he took in the rest of the section. Dust coated the floor and more things littered the length of it, forcing him to maneuver to avoid tripping. He thinks he saw a name on one of the plastic tubs, but he couldn’t be bothered enough to check it out, not when he was more focused on getting his bearings. Cobwebs hung from parts of the wall as well, undisturbed. He couldn’t even begin to tell how long its been around, the hall just… untouched. Unexplored. If he was being held captive, why here? And why no extra measures to keep him locked in.

The throbbing in his head was almost entirely overshadowed by shock when Ryan walked out into what looked like a living room. He’d be more certain of it if only it wasn’t absolutely littered, desecrated with multiple articles of clothing and items. Papers were piled up on a small island table halfway across the room, presumably the kitchen alongside used mugs and dishes, even more so in the sink, towering and teetering unnervingly. He could still see the rims where coffee accumulated. Whoever was using these though must’ve run out at some point because bottles of water— empty, half filled, a thirds filled, etc.— were next to stockpile. An open case of water sat below, in front of a cabinet.

On the couches were several blankets thrown over the backs and more boxes. They seemed newer, at least, like they were brought in, uh, definitely not, like, last week or anything, but just long ago enough that they weren’t torn or worn at the corners. They just sat there, also untouched.

He was beginning to doubt that there was actually somebody here with him and he doesn’t know if that’s worse. 

There was a fireplace adjacent to the hallway he came out of and he trekked over there slowly. He still hadn’t found a thermostat and honestly, he might die trying— god, his hands were shaking so much. He took a seat momentarily, trying to dig deeper into the recesses of Shane’s jacket, but it still wasn’t enough. He was shaking so hard he was nauseated; felt like vomiting whatever he had in his stomach. _Did he eat recently?_

_No. Focus, Ryan._ The fireplace and the junk scattered around there, barely leaving anywhere in the floor for him to walk, could wait. The front of the (house? Cabin? Getaway home?) had more room that was only relatively unkempt. The seating didn’t seem to have as bad of a dusting, though, but there were more things scattered around, notebooks and miscellaneous items and?? There was a pet crate there. Maybe for a small dog? Or a cat? It looked about as big as the one that his family used for Micki and Dori and beside it was a food bowl and a dainty, stainless steel water bowl. There was no name on either of them, but a few toys laid discarded across the wall.

He hopes that wherever that animal is, it’s somewhere warm.

He looked next to the hallway that was across from where he came out of. It was unkempt, sure, but in a way it looked… used. And on the wall, almost hidden from Ryan’s view and blending in with the color of the walls, was a thermostat.

Ryan briskly walked over to it, bordering on running and pried open his clenched fists to turn on the heat, desperately pressing and squinting at the bright green screen, The house seemed to whir to life in that moment, a loud humming through the walls and before Ryan knew it, a blast of cold air, probably still rearing to warm up, shot through the vents along with a lot of dust. Ryan doubled over coughing. Jesus, he’s inhaled enough dust to last a lifetime, yeah, but by the time he was done spitting into a full trash bin by the sink, it finally began to heat. Oh thank god.

* * *

Somewhere else in the house, someone stirred in their sleep, ears twitching at the huffs of the air vent far louder than the purring against their chest. Of the heat being turned on.

No one’s turned that on in a while. No one _should_ be turning it on at all. They pried their eyes open.

* * *

Now that he was sure he would be able to explore without freezing while his lips turned blue, Ryan headed for the fireplace that he was eyeing earlier. There were a load of picture frames on the mantle plopped onto their faces and when Ryan turned them over, he found that the glass of the frames were broken and the pictures were missing. A little farther right, by the back sliding door that opened into a closed patio with shuttered down windows, there was a calendar,

Ryan wasn’t sure how useful it’d be, after all, it seemed like no one’s been here in a while. He doubts it’s up to date. But he had to know the range of time around here. Why did he wake up here? Surely there were other people just… somewhere? But there was nothing but winterland as far as the eye could see.

The pages of the calendar he looked at didn’t tell him much. Ryan furrowed his brow, reading out appointment dates, a couple of birthdays, reminders to visit certain people every week or so that all seemed to come to a halt in late August. Something… felt wrong. Not about the days or events, it just feels like- this isn’t- the calendar-

The calendar wasn’t formatted like what he was familiar with. He looked at November. The numbers and the days of the week didn’t line up. They started November on a Saturday. On the calendar, it was on a Monday? Ryan quickly let go of the calendar- the- the front normally had the year- _what_ **_year_ ** _is it?_

The page stared back at him.

**2021**

“Wh-”

_“Who the_ **_fuck_ ** _are you?”_ a deep, enraged timber growled into his ear as a rough tether came around Ryan’s neck and tugged him against another— _big, big, big, too big, could he even fight this guy?_ — warm body. Past his own thrashing and his startled heart pumping blood through his head, he could barely hear the other guy, and his thoughts drowned out the threats being fed into his ears. He couldn’t breathe, the- the rope was being pulled taught against his neck, against his trachea and arteries. Every time his hands tried to pry it off, the other man pullrd it tighter and tighter. It didn’t help that his grip was being weakened by the second, not just because he was losing air but also because of the arms flexed underneath his armpits, forcing his appendages apart and lifting him minutely, making him tiptoe strenuously if he didn’t want to draw the rope even tighter around his neck. 

Numbness was quickly settling into his ears, but his face burned as he gasped. He couldn’t tell who exactly was screaming anymore. Was it him, or the man?

No matter, one thought pervaded them all.

He was going to die.

He made it this far out, close to finding a phone and- and maybe calling for rescue and he was going to die, choked out in the middle of the woods by a stranger, unable to fight back, not able to remember how he got here, not knowing if he ever got the chance to tell his friends and family that he loved them. His mom. His dad. His brother. Micki and Dori. Teej. Devon. Steven. Katie. Hell, even fucking Roland and Danny. And most of all…

_“Sh…ane…”_

He was going to die here. Probably because of a stupid fucking decision at some fucking bar out on an Unsolved trip or some shit. He was going to die. Here. He was sure of it.

_This_ was the end.

  
  
  
  
  
  


And then the pressure disappeared and he fell, crashing against the floor shoulder first, the slam of meat and bone against solid flooring not very quiet in the otherwise silent room. Curled up, in between gasps for much needed air, he screamed silently.

_He thought he was going to die? Why didn’t he die? Was he being kept around for torture? What happened?_

Behind him, the weight of the other man also crashed against the floor. Ryan shivered and heaved. He didn’t want to look at what he was going to do to him. If he was going to kill him, he might’ve begged that he had done it with that rope instead of drawing out his anxieties. What was he going to do now, while Ryan laid helpless on the carpet with his back turned to his captor? Would he slice him up with a knife? Or bring that rope back around his neck over and over again until Ryan physically begged for the sweet release of death? Taunt him with the choice of living? _Why did he let him go?_ Ryan couldn’t understand.

A hand gingerly laid itself on his shoulder. _Did he want to put his weight on me? Keep me down so I couldn’t roll out of the way of his attacks?_ Ryan shivered violently and almost retched, flinching away from the touch, trying to crawl away as he cradled his bruised throat. Hands kept trying to touch him but no matter how gentle, they burned his skin and he yelped and tried to leap for safety, oblivious to what exactly his captor pleaded. He had to fight. But there was no way he could in this state, shaking like a leaf. He could only scream and even that hurt to do.

“Hey, hey, I- I’m sorry-”

“GET AWAY!”

“No- come back, oh my god, _holy shit, your neck-_ ”

  
“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!!”

“Hey, hey, hey-” the other man cooed. It felt so familiar and Ryan wanted to lean into that false comfort so much, but his head was all over the place and he was going to fucking die and he didn’t know how to stop it. He wanted to cry as he pathetically crawled and kicked at the hands on his legs.

“FUCK OFF!! GET OFF I SAID!! GET OFF OF ME!! GET OFF!!!”

“I’m sorry, Ry- Ryan-”

“Ryan, please-”

“ _Ryan._ ”

Ryan jolted hard with shock, almost knocking his head against the corner of the couch he’d crawled around.

“Ryan?” the hoarse tired voice whispered. Worn and aged. But a familiar timber.

He turned around slowly, shivering in horror, and came face to face with-

“Sh…Shane…?” The other man looked just like the Shane he knew, but worse for wear. Far, far worse for wear. Shane nodded.

The headache Ryan had when he woke up came back full force, consuming his mind. He could barely feel the burning in his lungs, not unlike earlier when he was being held up with the rope, choked to within an inch of his life. His vision was going black, but he could barely pay it any mind over his thoughts jumping back and forth between, “It hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts,” and “Why? What’s going on? What am I doing here? How much time has passed? Why am I here— it was 2018, why is it 2021? What’s going on? _Why am I here?_ **_How do I get home?_ **”

He passed out.

* * *

“Ryan!! RYAN?! RYAN PLEASE-”

Ryan’s eyes were violated by the light piercing his eyelids, waking him up. Why does Shane sound so worried? Fuck, it must be early morning, why is he being woken up? Seriously…

“Five… more minutes…” he breathed and for a moment, nothing more was said.

Then, Shane broke out into nervous hysterics, laughing in maniac disbelief. “What!! Jesus christ, you’re Ryan all right. Get up! Get up, Ryan! RYAN!!”

Ryan sat up with a start, rubbing furiously at his eyes. “Christ, I’m up, I’m up,” he grumbled. It felt like his head was jackhammered and his throat was on fire. Jesus, what did he do last night? “Ugh, I had this crazy fucking dream, man.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Yeah, and in it I- I woke up like two years into the future or something and you were there but like, waaaaaay older or something. Not gonna lie, you- you looked like you aged I pretty well, but man, it was insane, and you kinda choked me out, but I forgive you. It was a dream, but I forgive you. Anyway-“

“Well, before you go on, one, it’s actually 2025, two, I’m? I guess I’m flattered to hear that?”

Ryan has never fully woken up faster before in his life. “W-what,” he blurted and when he put down his hands, he came face to face with the Shane from his dream again.

There was a lot of white in his neck-length hair, and the laugh lines by his eyes were easy to see, even past the blurry sting of his contacts being used while “asleep”. Even with age, he hadn’t lost the sleepy look to his eyes— _“They’re SLAVIC, you little shit!”_ — and Ryan could recognize that mouth everywhere, even past the half-assed beard that’s grown over around it. It reminded him of their Bigfoot episode, just… a bit more grown and definitely not as groomed. He was just as tall as he’s ever been, but he seemed just a tad bit thinner, and not in a lean way, but a sickly one, like he’s been going without eating. For a while. The white t-shirt, stained and almost sour smelling with overuse, hung on his torso.

He looked like he'd let go.

“Are you going to pass out on me again? Please don’t.”

“Pass out?” Ryan laughed nervously. “Whatever could you mean?”

“Well,” Shane stuttered, taking Ryan seriously, “the last time you looked at me-“

It was a lot to take in at once, really, and Ryan did the only thing he could do; the move he and Shane usually found comfort in.

“Can’t believe you’re so rude you’re trying to fall asleep around me, big guy,” he joked.

In rapid, instinctive mock offense, Shane gasped and bit back, “My eyes are just SLAVIC, you little shit!! I can’t believe you! Ugh!!”

And they bust out laughing, cracking the tension if only for a little bit. Right now, Ryan had no fucking idea how he was here, but he hoped he’d be fine, so long as Shane— or at least, _this_ Shane, who laughed and smiled and jeered back at him just like the one he knew did— was there with him.

* * *

If only that bubbly joy lasted. 

When Ryan had finished laughing, Shane kept going and going and he quickly devolved into hiccuping that descended even further into ugly cries riddled with whimpers and whines like Shane was a dam that had burst and was trying to look everything but.

“Shane?” Ryan asked, suddenly very very worried for him. “Hey, man, can you tell me what’s going on? What’s wrong? Big guy?”

Shane flinched at the nickname and shook his head frantically, quickly trying to clear the tears. But his effort was all for naught, and he couldn’t hide it.

“...Shane?” It all begged the question of where exactly he was, again. How… distant was now that Shane didn’t recognize him coming up behind him? Is this time travel? _2025, jesus christ._ Or is he… misplaced? What differences existed between this Shane and the one he know- knew. (Knew.) What has he experienced that Ryan hadn’t been there for? Or was there another Ryan here? Or was the answer simpler; that he was in a coma, and this was all a dream or- or a hallucination?

With his forearms hiding his face, Shane made a come hither motion at Ryan, quiet, and Ryan followed through, even through the stench and beard burn of Shane pulling him into a hug and burrowing his big head into the crook of his shoulder.

Normally, Ryan wouldn’t be so open to a stranger just pulling him into their arms and crying on him. Normally, Ryan would be very very worried, with the perception by any one person that they could put their hands on him and move him like he wouldn’t be uncomfortable about it. But this wasn’t just any stranger. It was Shane, and he was in hysterics, open mouthed crying against his neck. He couldn’t fathom why Shane might ever react to him like this and he wished that every ache of his heart from listening to Shane’s whimpers on his skin would wake him up from whatever terrible reality this seemed to be. But he never did and minutes passed, the heat finally kicking in. Minutes passed, but Ryan didn’t wake up for what should’ve been a first time, and definitely not what would’ve been a third time in that “day”.

Ryan could see the sun fully emerge from the mountains by the time that Shane stopped, numb and unmoving on his shoulder. For a time, he wondered dully if Shane had fallen asleep; even if he did, he wouldn’t have moved. The man looked like he needed a break from life as a whole, and if a little respite was all Ryan could afford him, he’d give it willingly. But he did move, eventually, out of Ryan’s reach. He had to admit, he cringed a bit when he pulled away to wipe the tears and snot off with his shirt, but the thought of saying anything felt… intrusive.

  
“Shane?” Ryan asked a final time, soft and when Shane’s sniffles had died down. No matter, Shane winced, recoiling like he’d been touched with fire, which is ironic since Ryan was the one doing that earlier. He rubbed absently at his neck. He’d forgotten about, uh… _that_ …

“Sorry, sorry,” Shane said, sniffling. “It’s just… been a while. I- I still can’t believe you’re real- I can touch you! You’re… actually here. But when I close my eyes, I feel like I’ll open them and you’ll be… gone again.”

Ryan looked at him, wide-eyed with shock. “What?” But Shane turned away, choosing instead to wipe away the remnants of his tears and brightening the splotches of red on his skin. “Shane, what did you say?”

Shane let out a humorless chuckle. “I don’t know where you popped out of, but I’m- I’d say I’m meant to be helping you and yet here I am, the one leaning on you instead. After almost killing you.” He looked away, ashamed. “Sorry about that, by the way…”

Before Ryan could forgive him verbally, Shane asked, “Ryan, how old do I look to you?”

Ryan regarded the stubborn man quietly. If it _was_ 2025… fuck- Shane was, he was 32 right now. Or, well, not now, but, in 2018. He was… around that age. If it was 2025, then that would make Shane 39. However, Ryan thought, eyeing Shane’s silvered locks and his untrimmed beard, he looked far past 39. He looked like he was going to push 50 in the next year or so. 

“It doesn’t add up, right?” Shane asked, sensing Ryan’s confusion. He shook his head. “Yeah. I _am_ 39 this year. Your math isn’t wrong.” Shane smiled softly. “And you barely even look 30. No. Are you younger?”

“Yeah… 28,” Ryan said, numb. That’s 7 years. Seven whole years that- that what? That had gone past him? That he’d leaped? What was going on? He shivered, and this time, it wasn’t from the cold.

Shane hummed and twiddled his thumbs, head hanging. “Mine was 30- almost 31 the last that I saw him.”

Shane couldn’t keep dangling bait like this for Ryan. If there was no instance of Ryan disappearing at 28 then was this even Ryan’s own Shane? Was this his world? “Almost 31”?? “Was 30”??? Did this Ryan leave Buzzfeed— and Shane— behind? Or was it… worse? He had to know and from the look on Shane’s face, he was just waiting for Ryan to press him for answers.

“He… was?” Ryan asked, fearful of the truth.

Shane nodded. “You- Ryan-”

He sighed and Ryan could see the hard swallow of his throat. “Ryan died, uh, four years ago. He’s…” he looked down and reached out to caress the fabric of Ryan’s jeans, like he was still trying to convince himself that Ryan was really there, in the flesh. “He’s gone.”

The last syllable came out a harsh whisper, and in a rush, Shane stood up, retreating, leaving Ryan alone in the living room in shock.


End file.
